Christianity?

I remember when I was about 6 years old the yellow buses would ride through our neighborhood and pick up all the kids, take us to this huge warehouse and preach to us about God. They would feed us and were especially nice because I’m assuming we were considered to be underprivileged kids. I was privileged enough to go to Catholic school most of my young life. I had to wear a uniform and learn how to kneel and pray, Lent from Ash Wednesday to Easter.

My mom talked about the bible all the time and she knew her stuff. I recall going to church quite a bit in my young life, but it was short-lived. But it was enough for me to develop a relationship with spirituality but at the time I didn’t know what spirituality was. I would talk to God all the time. I always felt we had a special relationship, but it wasn’t until years later that I would figure out exactly what it was. But first it would go against everything I believed in.

When I was twelve my life changed. December of “85” I stayed home while my Mom, brother and sister went to the flea market. My mom would sell things at the flea market every weekend. This day I chose to stay home and watch the undefeated Chicago Bears. Later that after noon they came home with bandages on their faces. They never made it to the flea market, but were coming home from the hospital. They were in a car accident in the wrong neighborhood and my brother had to fight two grown white men in defense of my mother and sister. That particular situation was the beginning of who I am today. I questioned who I was as a black person, I questioned who the police were and I began to question the church. The questions in my mind were very diminutive. I was only twelve.

Later my question about Christianity was simply “Says Who?” There were so many things that were not making logical sense to me. I never questioned God only church and religion. I was struggling to do this because everyone was telling me not to question them, but I felt if I was going to give my life to this why not question it? The older I got the more political I became. The more I began to read pro-black books the more my mom and I clashed. Although my mom was hardly a complete Christian at the time, she would always say that God would punish her worst because she knew better.

July 27th 1995 I was put to the test. My mom was in the hospital. She had an aneurysm while at work. At the time I was not sure what that was so I rushed to the hospital. When I got there I saw my sister and my mom’s friend. The doctor pulled us in a room and explained that they were trying to stabilize her so they could perform surgery; but also informed us that even with surgery she would never be the same again. “Huh? What does that mean doctor!?” “That means if you’re mom comes out of this she will not be able to speak or communicate or do anything for herself.” “So you’re saying my mom will be a vegetable?” “We try to stay away from those terms, but she will be comatose.” Wow, now the reality of the situation had set in and I was not sure if I wanted them to perform surgery on her. What’s the point of her being alive if she can’t live?

I saw a white priest walking through the corridor of the hospital. A voice in my head said “Ask him to pray for your mom.” No! I’m not doing that! The voice said, “This maybe the only chance you have to save your mom.” I followed the priest and at the right moment asked him to pray for my mom. He walked me to a corner, held my hand and prayed. I thanked him.

Until this day it’s an uneasy feeling for me, I would’ve felt better if the priest had been black. If I had to do it all over again, I wouldn’t. It’s simply because I have a better understanding of things spiritually. If I could do it over again I would go into that hospital room, hold my mom hand and spiritually connect with her and wish her well. My mom’s death was needed and until this day her death has not gone in vain. Call it an ill twist of fate. There was something in me that wanted to have that experience. It was something in me that needed that tragedy. My life started the day my mom died. Anytime before that I had no idea of who I was. I was not a poet or a writer. I was a young man walking down a dark road with no purpose. Christianity played no part in this process. Christianity only pulled me further away from my purpose. Religion made me feel like a dog chasing his tail.

The Point ↓

When I lay on my death bed I can rest easier knowing I’ve served my purpose to the best I knew how. I feel I can die peacefully and say to God/Universe “Thank you for allowing me to serve my purpose.” If you’re a Christian make the full commitment to be one. All I ask is for you not to be afraid to question what may be your salvation but don’t judge the one’s who do.

~D-Revolution
www.D-Revolution.Org

I’m Fat…Because I Grew Up Hungry

We spend most of our time counting money, but not understanding the numbers. Growing up in poverty, I learned how to do unorthodox things to survive and get what I needed. As an adult I’m finding out money is not the essential need, we only think it is.

I remember when my sister use to get food stamps. She had just had a baby and got public assistance. My sister would only shop for herself and her daughter and would not share anything. There were times when milk would spoil, bread would turn green or uncooked rotten chicken would be left in the refrigerator, but I couldn’t touch it. I would be hungry, literally starving and she would not share anything. How could someone be so cruel? So I had to resort to other things to eat, keep in mind I’m about fifteen or sixteen at the time. I was the youngest of three and by the time hard times really hit my family I was still in high school. Sometimes I think my mom forgot how young I was. I really had to be an adult when I was just fifteen!

Some days I would go into Harold’s Chicken and make my order. “I would like a half dark with pepper, no slaw and extra mild sauce.” With a half dark you got two thighs and two legs and a ton of fries. Just as I finished ordering my food I’d say my friend was going to pick my order up and I would walk out. Harold’s would cook to order. They never cared who picked up the food. Anyway, I would send my friend back into the restaurant about 10 minutes later and they would give him my order. Then I would come back in the restaurant with another friend. I would go to the counter and ask for my food. The cashier would say “Your friend came and got it.” At that moment I would point at the friend I brought in with me and say “Here is my friend right here. Did you give him my food?” The cashier would immediately think she gave the food to the wrong person. Then she would say “Hold on, your order is coming up soon.” Now we have eight pieces of chicken and we could all eat.

On other days I would call the local McDonald’s and ask to speak to the manager.

Manager: “This is the manager.”

Me: Sir, I just left there. I had ordered a Quarter Pounder with Cheese and the meat was half cooked!”

Manager: “How long ago was that?”

Me: “I just came through the drive thru about fifteen minutes ago.”

Manager: “What did you order?”

Me: “I ordered the number four.”

Manager: “Give me your name and I will give you a new order when you come back.”

Me: “Do you want me to bring this food back?”

Manager: “No.”

Whew! I was glad he didn’t want me to bring the food back because there was no food, but I just got me a free meal. You are listening to a guy who really grew up hungry and had to learn tactics to get food.

So many days I would dig into the couch for loose change. Some days I was lucky. Most days I was not. Seventy six was my number. That’s what I would strive for every day. Seventy six cents was all I needed to get me a bag of fries from Harold’s. If I could eat around 4pm I was good the rest of the night, but I had to time it just right. If I couldn’t get enough money (most days I couldn’t) I would take whatever change I found and go to John’s Game Room and buy one cent cookies. John’s Game Room was right behind my house.

The one thing about survival is it makes you do things you don’t want to do. So many times I plotted to go up to the local Burger King and snatch someone’s bag. There were times I would stand outside the Burger King and look through the glass to see who was an easy target, but I never could do it.

Don’t ask me where my mom was!? I don’t know, I couldn’t tell you! For whatever reason it was justified at the time and I never blamed her. Somehow I would make it to school every day. I went to school to eat. I had a free lunch card. I would ride with my friend who lived on the next block to get to school. I didn’t realize how much these things would have an effect on me, but because I grew up hungry I always wanted to be the first person in the cheese line. Metaphorically speaking I’m still hustling to be the first person in the cheese line, but one day I would like to be the person giving out the cheese.

The Point ↓
If we could all start thinking mathematically about things we would realize very quickly that money is not the essential need.

D-Revolution
www.D-Revolution.Org

King Me

Every morning after breakfast my servants and I tend the garden. Our village is growing everyday with many mouths to feed. Oh, how I love feeding my people. I love making the people of my village happy. Sometimes I would walk the streets just as the sun is setting. As I walk through town some don’t recognize me and the ones who do simply wave and smile and I nod my head in return. I feel the need to get the pulse of the people and see how they are living. Saturday I open the kingdom for breakfast. It’s nothing like a Saturday morning breakfast. On Sunday I pick one house in the village where I choose to have dinner. My menu is mailed to every home a week in advance to assure I get the meal I want.

My villagers live according to a point system. The more you work the more points you gain. Points cannot be exchanged with others only inherited. Some families have mastered my point system by working together and raising hard-working sons and daughters. Other families remain poor by doing just enough to survive. The richest man in my village doesn’t have a penny only seniority. Seniority is gained by helping your neighbor build their home or by doing service work to any part of the village or my kingdom. The more work put in the more points he’s granted.

It is important that the men stay healthy and we be prepared for any battle at any given moment. We do not have a large army, so I work with our engineers day and night to assure we have the best weapons and the most advanced technology. It is required to serve ten years in my army. No one receives pay to protect their own but everyone is rewarded by their contribution to the village.

Today the word has gotten to me that some of my lowest ranking peasants have been stealing food from the highest mason in the village. I do not hesitate. “Bring me the evidence of this thief!” I send a few of my guards to the village to bring the suspect and the victim to my kingdom. Once arrived I look at them both and ask them if they are happy: they both respond with joy. Then I asked the suspect why would he steal food when I feed him so well and explained that he has a choice to be rich or poor and he obviously made his decision due the lack of work he’s given to our village. As I began to express the truth he bowed his head in shame and I got my answer. He was guilty of stealing another man’s meal: a man who has worked hard and raised his sons to work hard. Without a second thought I had him slaughtered. I have no mercy for a man who gets treated well but mistreats others.

I as king have a job to keep my Queen happy. Although this is very difficult even she has a price to pay for my power and weakness. My Queen is the only person who doesn’t’ think twice when she speaks to me. Although she may quietly accept my moments of infidelity, she would never openly receive my actions and turn the other cheek. The key is not to exploit my power at the expense of others but to have them respect my weakness and nurture it. On Sundays I visit a different family every week. The women of these families cannot control themselves as I am the king sitting in their kitchen laughing, drinking and eating like an old friend. As soon as the man of the house leaves the room it is quite clear she wants me or better yet she wants the king. I want her as well, but I cannot do this behind the back of the man I need to protect my village. I ask him to walk me to the door and I let him know how good the meal was and assured him I had a good time. I posed a question, “Sir with your blessing would it be okay if your wife came to the palace with me?” I’ve asked this question many times never knowing the consequence of my actions I brace myself for his life is in jeopardy at this moment. He says to me “Yes sir I would be honored for my wife to be in your presence. “ I nod my head. “She will be safely returned.” Does this man honor me so much to allow me to have his wife? Many times I’ve asked this question and many times I’ve been told “No”, but the key is using one’s perception of me to gain what I desire. I will never kill a man in my village for a woman. I love my men, but I love their women as well. Unfortunately for my Queen the scenario is a little different. I ask her every Sunday night is it okay to have another woman just for the night and she says “No” unafraid of my anger and cares very little about my desires. I laugh, but I only ask out of respect of my Queen. I will do it anyway.

The Point ↓

I often think about if I was king what sort of king I would be. It also helps me understand my integrity, flaws, compassion, and imperfections. If you were King or Queen what would you do?

~D-Revolution
www.D-Revolution.Org

The Connection

If people focused on each other instead of world events the world would be a much better place.
-D-Revolution

I’m writing my existence, realizing more than ever that the words we speak manifest. Do we actually call out our own fate? Is calling our own fate the balance of the world? The ying and yang? For those who keep their mouths closed and their thoughts sacred, I wonder is life easier that way. Is ignorance bliss? A person like myself who thinks entirely too much continues to pay a price for an over load of knowledge. There is a price to pay when you see the world differently from everyone else. Too much of anything can and will begin to take its toll. Everything will be balanced. Being relevant is key, but what is being relevant? In my opinion being relevant is having a presence about yourself; simply when you walk in a room is your presence felt? When you leave the room is your presence missed. Relevance comes with a sense of purpose and people can connect with your energy even if they don’t know you. I believe our spirits can connect with things we don’t physically understand. The illusions around us strip us of our natural ability to see all things are connected.

A friend told me he knows a girl who teaches small children, but lives with her drug dealing boyfriend she has child with. He went on to say how much of a contradiction it is to teach kids, but to let your boyfriend sell drugs out of the house your child lives in. I paused for second and then said “Do you buy drugs from her boyfriend?” He said “Yes, but what does that have to do with me?” I explained to him that he was a part of the problem, because we’re all connected. If we can think outside the box and discover the inner connection with ourselves suddenly everything that seems important becomes superficial. We would begin to see things clear and make better decisions about our lives.

Growing up I would sit and look at myself in the mirror for several minutes. I would begin to see things that I normally wouldn’t see with a quick glance. Have you ever stared in the mirror and looked into your own eyes? Most people avoid looking into mirrors unless it’s for vanity purposes. I challenge anyone to face the mirror. Look at yourself for about fifteen minutes and see what happens. Our fate and purpose is not complex only our self-image.

Illusion- something that deceives by producing a false or misleading impression of reality.

The stock market, banks, mortgage, religion, money and credit are all false realities. We focus on the very things that have no true meaning to our purpose in life. If you sit back and watch television pay close attention to the commercials. Most commercials are going to give you a false reality by advertising more vanity and a false sense of self. The more we focus on vanity the more we lose our reality. We’re all guilty of it. We’re being tested everyday to see how much we’re dependent on the system (the illusion). Do you really think they didn’t help the people of Katrina because they were black? Being black was a small part, but they waited to see what the people were going to do as whole. They want to know how dependent we are on the illusion built around us. We’re blinded by our own image of ourselves and therefore do not live up to our true potentials.

The Point↓

Take a moment and breathe. Pay attention to your inner spirit and signs around you. I recommend watching a few movies that I believe are very parallel to this article. “Grand Canyon” is a movie that really talks about the connection between us all in a very profound storyline. “The Matrix” is a movie that talks about self-image and “V for Vendetta” is a great film that talks about purpose. Get the family together and have a great movie night.

WWW.D-Revolution.Org

The Russell Effect

I now understand how powerful the mind is and how we can manifest thoughts and energy that play a major part in our everyday life. How easy it is to tap into a frequency and not realize you’re there. We see many people everyday who are living according to their feelings and beliefs that has manifested into a way of life. Sometimes it’s hard to see the reflection of yourself. We become blind to who we really are. I’ve learned that most things I dislike about others are things I do myself. I am always searching for truth, redemption and salvation. I’ve also learned every time I think about who I am I take a step in the right direction. This means I have to focus on my past and learn from it. The fears and challenges of being the best person I can be, but I can’t truly focus on being the best me without truly focusing on things that has happen to me, and having to admit to myself that something or someone got the best of me. No story of mine is as significant as my beef with a childhood enemy RUSSELL!

My brother and I were at Burger King located at the end of my block. Now if you had enemies in the neighborhood nine times out of ten you would run into them at Burger King, Harold’s Chicken or McDonald’s. Russell and a few of his friends pull up in a car. He walks up to me and swings! I swing back! One of his friends gets behind me. Now I didn’t think anything of it until I felt a fist hit me from behind. There was a sharp pain in my neck and my entire body went numb. My brother pushes him and says, “Let them fight one on one.” At that time another car pulls up with Russell friends and before I knew it I was being hit from all directions. I began to swing wildly to get myself out the circle. If I trip and fall I will be stomped. So I swing! Swing! Boom! Hitting two or three of em in front of me. As soon as I saw an opening I ran and two of em chased me. At this point I’m little dizzy and apparently not running fast enough because they catch me in the alley. Boom! I hit em and started to run a little faster. I got tired really fast. I was out of breath and my mouth was dry. I approached my house. SHIT! Where is my brother? I enter the back door of my house and grab my sawed-off shotgun and then ran out the front door. When I step outside there’s kids playing everywhere. All the neighbors are outside. My sister runs behind me to stop me. Then I see my brother, but they had jumped him for trying to help me.

For years one thought clouded my mind, “If I ever see Russell l I’m going to kick his ass.” Now I’ve had this thought for about twenty years. Russell was my nemesis. We fought a few times in high school and he was coward. The type of guy who didn’t go anywhere without his boys. One day I was on my way to the park and I seen Russell coming out the store. He didn’t see me right way. I waited for a second because I knew he was never by himself. I zoned in on him and said,“What’s up, Nigga!” He looked. ‘Yeah what’s up now Nigga!” He seemed scared. “Yeah nigga I got yo ass.” Russell stops looking at me and started looking down the block. Oh snap! There go his crew. Turns out he was the last one to leave out the store so he trotted to them before I could get to him and the tables turned.

Russell began to call his boys. I had to make a run for it. The Burger King incident played out in my mind. I went from bad ass to the running man! I thought I had him. It was nothing scary about Russell he was a punk.But he always had an advantage over me. He was never by himself. Ever! I was always by myself. This will play out for years. One day I made a promise to myself that no matter when or where if I ever catch Russell by himself he would have to fight me. I manifested this anger that lasted for years. I can honestly say I just let the anger go maybe a few years ago. Russell was my nemesis. He always got the best of me. Even though I was now living in the South and left him behind in Chicago I still had thoughts of running into him and kicking his ass. That’s how serious it was for me.

One day I woke up and literally said, “Fuck Russell!” then rolled over and went back to sleep. That was it, at that moment I let the anger go. But I’ve spent the last year trying to figure out how to write about it and what would be the purpose behind it. It took me so many years to let that anger go, but I learned something more important:Never give your emotions away to someone who doesn’t deserve it. Learn when to respond and when to react.

I wanted to be a different person. I am who I am today because I made choices. I was different person in my past. It’s like living in a book going from one chapter to the next. Never knowing where the story is going or how it’s going to end. I was the quiet boy in the beginning, trying to be like everyone else. I didn’t have a voice. I didn’t know how to be accepted. I learned quickly how to be unaccepted and that’s when I found my voice. I’m at the age now where I understand we can manifest thoughts that guide us to who we are, but sometimes our imperfections get in our way. We have to break down every page in the chapter and read every word and correct every typo.

The Point ↓

The truth is the first time I had an argument with Russell we were in class. I was a freshmen and he was a sophomore. I could have beaten his ass that day because that was the only day the opportunity presented itself and I didn’t do it. Russell was never alone after that. Until this day I don’t give anyone a second chance to do me wrong. Sometimes it works in my favor, sometimes it doesn’t, but the cool thing is that I can choose to change. My life has helped me manifest great vision and blessings. I can assure you it’s never too late for YOU to get started.

Fight the Power

 Police Story 1 (Stereotyping Me Makes You Stereotypical)

It was around 11pm when I left my cousin’s house. I got to the corner and saw two police officers sitting in the car staring at me. As I turned the corner, I saw flashing lights in my rear view mirror. In Chicago it’s not unusual to be stopped by the police for no reason.  One thing I appreciated about moving to the South is that the police actually stop you for a reason. No more harassment from big city cops.  When I pulled over to the curb I was concerned about my license plates. The license plates on my car didn’t belong to the car I was driving. Actually I should have been more concerned about what was on the passenger side front seat. The police officer asked me to get out the car; I did what I was told.  The officer walked me to the back of my car and left my driver door open.   I said “Can you close my door?”  he replied, “Do I look like a fucking doorman to you?”  Until this day I don’t know why I was concerned about my car door.  The officer looked at me and said, “Do you have any drugs in the car?” I said “No” “Tell me now because I hate fucking surprises.” I said “No”   I’m really hoping he doesn’t run my license plates. His partner proceeded to search my car. All of sudden his partner said “Oh Shit!”   At that very moment I remembered what was on my front seat, a brown paper bag full of weed packaged and ready for distribution.  They handcuffed me and put me in the back of the car. During my ride all I can think is how much I needed that money. At that time jail didn’t concern me. I knew it would be hard for me to bounce back from this.

We arrived at the police station and they began to write me up while I’m still handcuffed.  During this time other white officers surrounded me and asked what I did.  I ignored them. The arresting officer takes the bag and slowly pours out the weed on his desk. The officers began to laugh and crack jokes on me.  “Hey were you going smoke all this tonight?”  The officers laughed. I never responded.  The arresting officer continues to type his version of a profile of me.  “What gang are you in?” “I’m not in a gang.” The other officers began to laugh again. “Of course you’re in gang.”  The arresting officer looks at me and says “What gang is your neighbor in?” I said “My neighbor is not in a gang.” Another officer in the room stood up and said “Watch this.” He pulls up the arm sleeve of my clothing expecting to see a gang tattoo.  Ha! Jokes on you officer I don’t have any tattoos.  The arresting officer asked “What gang is in your neighborhood?”  I said “Gangster Disciples” and that is exactly what he wrote in my file “gangster disciple distributing drugs.”  They were stereotyping me and making me look bad in front of the judge.  Judges only have the file to read when you step in court.  Wrong is wrong and I’ll take whatever punishment, but don’t lie on me. Don’t make me out to be some kind of drive by night hoodlum.

Police Story 2 (How many feet are in a Yard)

Rob shot the sawed off shot gun down the alley. I said “Damn dude, why didn’t you shoot in the air?” We were just having fun testing the guns I had hidden my house. I had a sawed off ’12 gauge and a rifle. I didn’t have bullets for the rifle, but had a few for the shot gun.  We didn’t spend too much time outside; I was babysitting my niece.  We went back into the house and chilled. Rob went outside to the front porch. He comes back in the house and says “The police are outside!” “For what?” I asked. I went to the back where we shot the gun and seen several officers with their flashlights, but they couldn’t be looking for us. We were just out there five minutes ago. Police don’t respond that fast and if so, why was it so many? I immediately went and hid the guns. Before I knew it the police were in my house asking me where the guns were.  I said “Why are you guys in my house?”  An officer replied “Don’t start talking that warrant shit!” “Well if you guys don’t have a warrant I can sue you right?” No response. It was about five white officers and two black officers, one male and one female. The black female just stood there looking like we disgusted her. Rob and I just stood there while they tore up my mom’s house looking for the guns.  Finally one of the officers who were apparently frustrated turned to my four year old niece and said “Have you seen a gun around here?” He proceeded to point to his weapon. “This is a gun.” My niece said “No.” I said “Sir, don’t talk to my niece.” I looked at the black female officer as if she would take my side and see this entire procedure was illegal and disrespectful. They looked for about 45 minutes and just as they began to give up their search, I hear a voice yell from the back porch, “I got em!” They handcuffed us right in front of my niece.  My neighbor took my niece while the rest of the block watched me and Rob escorted out to the police car. One the officers asked me if I wanted to make deal.  He said if I could tell him where more guns were he can reduce the charges. His partner quickly said “That’s okay we’re not making any deals today.”  As Rob and I sat in the back seat I watched the police officers have a discussion and laugh like it’s all a joke to them. They both got into the car and began to talk under their breath. The officer on the passenger says “Okay fellas, are you ready for some questions?”  Rob and I sat in silence. The officer says “How many feet are in a yard?” Rob replied “Twelve.”; the officer started laughing. I looked at Rob like he was stupid and then I said “It’s three feet in a yard.” The officer reacts, “Whoa! I can’t believe it! I can’t believe you got it right!”  It took me a while to understand that moment, but after years of playing that situation back in my head I know exactly what he was thinking. Every black person he arrests doesn’t know how many feet are in a yard. Apparently he and his partner had a bet on this and today they both lost, because when I asked the officer what was the answer he usually gets, he said “They usually tell me how many feet is in their back yard.” and he laughed again. I guess we’re just some dumb black criminals in his mind, but you’ll be surprised how many officers have this mentality.

I went to jail and was let out because it was no more room in the county jail. I had a court date two days later. As I stood there with the public defender, the officer told the judge his story of the arrest.  The officer lied and said he chased us into the house that night. He had to cover up the fact that they didn’t have a warrant to come into my house. I whispered to my public defender “He’s lying.”  The public defender told me to hold my thoughts. Thinking I would eventually get a chance to speak, I did what I was told. Before I knew it I was being sentenced for my crime. I had no voice, no representation. I was simply a case number. It was all a system set up for a man like me and everyone was playing their part.  Until this day I say the police, public defenders and judges are the real criminals.

The Point ↓

FIGHT THE POWER!

Tonya

Tonya was tall at least six feet with light skin and three kids. She stayed a block away from me, and lived with her mom.  One day a mutual friend told me she liked me. “Really?” I thought she liked my brother. I’d seen Tonya for many years growing up in the neighborhood, but never thought she paid attention to me. In fact I use to kick it with one of her friends.  It didn’t matter. My brother was living in Tennessee and her friend didn’t live in the neighborhood anymore. Tonya and I began to talk. She was breaking up with the father of her children, and I reaped the benefits.

The more I got to know her, the more she catered to me.  I never spent any quality time with her it was strictly sexual for me. She was in walking distance of my home so that made it all the better.  All Tonya wanted was to please me in every sexual way she could, but that was not enough for me. She was willing to do anything for me, and of course I abused my power.  I would make Tonya cook for me and walk the food down to my house.  A big pan of lasagna was on my menu every week. Around the first of the month she got her food stamps and public assistance check. I got my fair share every month.  To make matters even more degrading I had a new girlfriend at the time and Tonya didn’t mind at all.

My Pimp Ways:

I took Tonya’s money all the time. Tonya had two young kids and an infant, but I didn’t care. In fact my current girlfriend was about to have my daughter. There were times my girlfriend would come by my house and I had to hide Tonya in the closet.  She never complained, but I didn’t know Tonya would be down with me for years. I embodied the personality of a pimp and didn’t know it. I constantly took things from her.  I can remember being at her house, sitting in her kitchen and she had four cans of Similac on top of the refrigerator. I asked her could I have them, and she said “No.” Huh? She said “I need that for my baby.” I’m scratching my head because she never said no to me before. How dare she say no to me? A few minutes later her baby began to cry and she left the kitchen. I grabbed the Similac and walked out her backdoor. I took it to my girlfriend “This is for the baby.”

I’ve exploited women most of my life. It’s a known fact that I’ve made many women sleep with my friends or my brother over the years. My friend Catrice always says I can sell ice to an Eskimo. I can convince anyone to do anything. 

My brother was home visiting from Tennessee so why not set her out?  “Set her out” was a term we used in Chicago when we were willing to share a woman. I called Tonya, “My brother is here for the weekend, can you come over?” She was hesitant. “Didn’t you use to like my brother?” She didn’t answer.  “I’m not going to hold it against you, just come over.”  She paused for a second and said “This is not something I would normally do, but I’ll do it for you.”  About a half hour later Tonya knocked on my back door.  I let my brother answer the door.  We had an enclosed back porch: my brother never brought her into the house. They handled their business on the back porch and after a while my brother came back into the house. He looked at me smiling and I smiled back. “Is she gone?”  “No, she is still on the back porch. She wants me to walked her home.”  I looked at him like he was crazy “Nigga that’s the least you can do! She just gave you some!”  I grabbed my jacket and went out to walked her home. I can’t imagine what was going through her mind at the time. All I know is how I feel now in the present day when I think about her, and it doesn’t feel good.  At the time it gave me great pleasure to make women sleep with my friends or my brother.  The difference between Tonya and other women is that the others were down for the cause. The other women were down for fucking my friends.  Tonya wanted me so bad that she was willing to do anything and I abused it.

Tonya has been on my heart since I left Chicago. I’ve done everything I could to locate her to apologize, but I believe Karma has made me pay for the things I’ve done to women over the years. Ironically I had children with the same type of woman I abused, and I’ve spent many of my years single. My experiences with women have not been good. So I’ve had time to learn how to be a man and understand my imperfections.  Even though I’m not perfect, I’ve learned not to exploit a woman’s weakness.

We as young men don’t seem to understand women’s insecurities. We only have one thing on our minds.  It’s not until years later that we learn the issues women deal with, but let me be the first to tell you ladies, most young men don’t care about your weight or your hair and all the things that make you insecure.  By the time we get older and have dealt with so many women we become trained to care about your weight and hair or how big your ass is.  Guess who trains us? Women!  Women train us to make them feel insecure about themselves, but I guess that’s another article.

The Point ↓

There are so many other stories I can give you about Tonya, but I don’t want anyone reading this to judge her. Instead I will end this article by giving a PROFOUND twist about her. Sometimes when Tonya would come to my house she carried a notebook. Her notebook was filled with many short stories she had written. At the time I didn’t know I was a writer or a poet, but I remember being amazed by her stories and how deeply they touched me.  I was attracted to her writing, not knowing at the time that one day I would write her story.  I exploited her and she influenced me.  Thank you Tonya and I hope all is well with you.

 Peace

 D-Revolution

MyTruth is My Rejection

I spend most of my time planning for later. I try to make sure everything is secure for later. Fear is the reason for this.  The fear of not having what I need.  As a child if the lights got cut off it was nothing I could do but sit in the dark until my mom figured out a way to get the lights back on. I remember feeling helpless because I was not in a position to help.  Those days without lights, gas and a telephone has taken a toll on me.  I think about all possibilities of what can happen and when.  Fear leads this frame of mind; fear of being without, fear of struggling, fear of going hungry. When we take a deep look at the cards life has dealt us it really shapes you for who you are today, but how do we alleviate fear?  Recognizing fear is how you defeat fear, but most of us live off impulse and ignore the cause and effect of our actions and therefore we continue to have a bombshell waiting for us around the corner. Cause and effect is not a rule that should ever be ignored, this rule is as important as one having faith in God or religion.  Cause and effect brings balance, but we spend most of our time trying to ignore this rule, because of our own desires. Unfortunately our desires are man-made and superficial, the universe doesn’t know what money is or what cars, clothes or a house is. The balance in life is simply for the greater good. That means if our actions are not to move us or our children forward we will find ourselves chasing something that is not there.  Even though we know our choices may work against us later we still continue to make the wrong choice.  I guess the phrase “Laugh now. Cry later” holds a lot of weight because it’s very true.

Fear of success, fear of love, fear of being loved, fear of being alone. If you fear something, most of the time you will become a slave to that particular fear, simply because you spend most of your life making decisions to avoid the fear instead of making the decision to move past the fear or challenge it.  For example, I free myself of judgment by simply not caring if I’m judged. That is what gives me the heart to write my articles and say what I want.  I usually get two reactions, love and hate which equals truth and lies. I understand that people are simply uncomfortable with the truth out of fear, but I continue to free myself by challenging my fear and writing my truth. In return I get hate mail or nasty phone calls which confirm what I’ve been saying “Cause and Effect.”  So as I try to bring truth through my words it brings dislike and hate among me, even from my family and the mother of my children. 

There is another term that is true, “Ignorance is Bliss.” Ignorance is easy. All we have to do is pretend not to see, listen or hear; let’s all walk around and be oblivious to everything around us. Let us continue to get abused by the next human being: your boss or your boyfriend, girlfriend, wife, husband, uncle, kids, baby momma, baby daddy; every person you come into contact with every day who doesn’t seek truth, but only seeks fear and how to avoid it.  The mere presence of truth can make any of us uncomfortable.  When someone walks in a room that is confident, that makes the average person uncomfortable, but we rationalize and think the person is arrogant simply because they walked in a room confident and focused. We prefer for someone to walk in a room with a smile on their face with that “Will you be my friend look” because that is what makes us feel better about ourselves, makes us feel dominate. This is why a smile, in most cases, can be used as a defensive mechanism.  This is not to say all people are like this, but usually a person who walks in a room with a smile is saying “I want to fit in.” “I am a nice person.”  Now the question is: Is this person as nice as the smile on his/her face? When does the mask come off?  We all fall into this trap, because it’s easier for us to approach someone who has a smile than the one who doesn’t , but in my opinion the person who doesn’t is probably the person who is most truthful and he/she knows a smile doesn’t make them who they are.

The Point ↓

If you have friends that you never have disagreements with, maybe you should start looking over your shoulder. If you’ve lost friends because of a disagreement, maybe they’re the ones who walked in a room with a smile on their face.

Let truth in. Do not make choices based on society or pressure. Seek out the truth. What you see and what you hear are two different things.  There is truth in rejection and lies in acceptance. You have to decide which is more important to you.

KITCHEN BOY (Excerpt from the Book “One Chance To Be A Man”)

I opened my eyes and for a minute, I forgot where I was.  How long had I been asleep?  My back hurts from sleeping on this hard bench.  I stood up and found myself in this room.  I went toward the door, a steel door with a small square glass where I could see an officer.  Reality just came back to me.  I’m in jail.  I was twelve years old and I had school the next day.  My charge?  Aggravated assault and battery.  I tapped on the door. The officer did not look up.  I tapped harder.  He finally looked at me and headed toward the door.  He unlocks the door and says, “What”?  “I need to use the bathroom”.  He unlocks another door in the same room I’m in and goes back out of the room, locking the door behind him.  While I’m in the bathroom I look in the mirror and everything is a blur.  I’m rewinding thoughts in my head of how I got here.  It doesn’t matter now.  I’m here.

They put me in the back of a truck handcuffed to a pole.  It was about ten of us.  Some of the guys were joking around like they’ve taken this ride many times.  I didn’t say anything.  I swear someone passed gas and I can’t breathe on the back of this truck.  The smell gets stronger and stronger.  All the guys started complaining and yelling about the smell.  As it turned out, one of the guys had a colostomy bag, and the rest is self-explanatory.  The other guys talked about him until we got to juvenile detention.  We arrived at a huge brown building and were escorted out like prisoners.  At twelve, that’s how it felt.

Processing

I was too young to go on the main floor with the rest of the guys.  They put me on the fifth floor where the juvenile girls stayed.  In my section, there were about twenty five rooms for us to sleep, a recreational area with cards, checkers, etc; a room to watch television, an eating section and a shower. There were only two other boys in my section.  I had to wear what they gave me.  At this point, I didn’t know when I was going home.  The date was October 9^th and I didn’t have a court date until October 23^rd.

Mr. Perkins was one of the supervisors in our section. He and a few others were rotating shifts, but he is the one that I remember.  One day, while watching TV, I was laughing and talking out loud. I noticed none of the others would really respond to me. I kept talking anyway.  “Who is that talking over there?” They all pointed at me.  Mr. Perkins said “You come here!”  I walked over. “Why are you talking?” I thought for second, but I gave an honest answer, “No one told me I couldn’t talk”.  Mr. Perkins got in my face, “I will beat your ass, do you understand me!?”  I stood there in shock looking him in the eye.  I believed him when he said he would beat my ass. “DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME!?”  I said yes. He stood and looked at me for a long time. I braced myself to be hit. Then he said, “No talking. Go over there and sit down!”  I went back and sat down. I watched the others hold their laughter because they knew all along we couldn’t talk, but waited for me to get in trouble (punks!).

I was locked in my room every night. I had a steel toilet, a bed and a small window.  Every night, I would look out the window and watch the wind blow through the Chicago and American flags.  I would press my forehead against the cold glass.  It was something about staring at the bright lights over the city and being able to gauge how swift the wind was by the way the flags moved.  This moment would calm me down every night before I went to bed. 

Every morning, they woke us up early. We had to shower and eat breakfast. All of our meals came on this huge cart someone delivered to the floor of our section.  Mack was the one in charge of serving the food.  We called him Kitchen Boy. The kitchen boy had the opportunity to keep extra food and short anyone a biscuit if he wanted to.  I wanted to be Kitchen Boy.  I assumed Mack was the kitchen boy because he had been there longer.  In retrospect, the food was really good and fresh.  I remember having to choose between milk and apple juice.  I hated milk so I chose apple juice.  Until this day, I love apple juice.  After breakfast was school.  The school was in the basement of the building.  I don’t remember learning anything.  It was just a lot of boys from different sections of the building. We spent only a couple hours a day in school.  By this time, I had established my presence among the rest of the boys and our section was growing.  Everyday a new kid joined us, and everyday Mr. Perkins got an opportunity to punish someone.

Mack kept getting in trouble and I was chosen to be Kitchen Boy.  I began having conversations with Mr. Perkins.  He started to get a little nicer everyday. He chose me to do everything he needed.  I became the leader of the bunch.  I believe this is where I learned my leadership skills.  I learned at this age to speak up.  I learned that we’re all cowards.  I learned that we exploit others to feel better about ourselves. I learned we’re all biding our time waiting for something.  Every night when I looked out the window, I knew something more than the day before.  I was twelve.  But in my mind I knew there was something more.  And maybe Mr. Perkins understood that about me.  Maybe Mack respected me, because he was cool with me even though he was not the leader of the group anymore.

Tonight, as I stare out the window, I’m hoping to get good news about my court date tomorrow.  The next morning, after breakfast, everyone went to school. I was not able to go to school because I had to be at court in an hour.  As I sat and watched television, Mr. Perkins walks over and stands over me for a few seconds and then says “Stand up!” I slowly got up.  Now he has that mean look on his face that I had forgotten all about.  He stands toe to toe with me and says “Walk over to the wall and balance yourself only using your fingertips, and don’t move until I say so!” I’ve seen him do this to others in the group. I didn’t understand what I had done. I was two feet from the wall trying to balance my weight with my finger tips, and that hurt.  Mr. Perkins stood there watching me struggle. Thoughts are running through my mind and I was trying to understand what I had done. Wait a minute! That’s it!  I hadn’t done anything. I’m the only one that he didn’t get a chance to punish. Today is my last day. I’m an hour away from getting out of here. All these thoughts rushed into my head.  And as I reached the answer, I turned my head to look at him. “You had to get me didn’t you?” Mr. Perkins busted out laughing so hard.  He said “Yes I had to get you. Come on before you are late for court.”

Crabs In A Bucket (Public Service Annoucement)

Insecure- 1.

subject to fears, doubts, etc.; not self- confident or assured: an insecure person.  not confident or certain; uneasy; anxious: She was insecure about the poem.

Insecurities bring out the best and worst in people.  I think being insecure can make someone great at what they do, but can also make a person envious and jealous of others. Most insecure people need validation over and over again. It doesn’t matter if you’re a woman looking for validation with a man, or a man who feels he needs to show how much money he has it all boils down to insecurities.  Personally I learned at an early age to be confident.  I was never afraid to see someone else get something I wanted.  I was always happy for them.  I just made sure I handled my business.

Being an artist I have a chance to see so many insecure people with big egos. It’s the worst combination a person can have.  I watch people all the time. I listen to what they say and watch what they do. I sometimes wonder why artist do what they do, meaning why are you an artist? Is it because you want to teach? Is it because you want to be famous?  Do you read? Do you study? What’s stimulating about what you’re doing?

 Stroke my ego and I’ll stroke yours:

When you have an insecure person they connect with others and cluster and become crabs in a bucket.  What happens in the bucket full of crabs is what makes it a famous saying. When a single crab is put into a lidless bucket, they surely can and will escape. When more than one share a bucket, none can get out. If one crab elevates themselves above all, the others will grab this crab and drag’em back down to share the mutual fate of the rest of the group. Crab-in-the- bucket syndrome is often used to describe social situations where one person is trying to better themselves and the others in the community attempt to pull them back down. They work together to stop others from succeeding. www.urbandictionary.com

No one is exempt from being a victim of “crabs in a bucket”, but you have to ask yourself if you are a part of the problem.  The crab syndrome happens everywhere. In Corporate America when you see the same four or five employees whispering and talking how another didn’t deserve the promotion or keeps track when someone comes in late or take a day off.  It can be a clique of individuals, a entire family, a group of cops, any group of people who agree not to support or uplift someone. The person who uses the phrase “ Hating” is usually the one doing the hating, but because he or she surrounds themselves with like minded people they don’t realize they’re the problem. They don’t realize they put themselves in the bucket, until the day they try to escape.

On a personal note:

I have great success with my endeavors. I have a long history of supporting others. I’ve always been the first person to step up and purchase books, CD’s and pay artists to perform with me. I’ve built great relationships with some, and others not so well, but I can guarantee to you my heart has always been pure and honest. I’ve never stepped on anyone’s toes to achieve success.  I’ve never cliqued up with anyone, as matter of fact when I see a clique of individuals I go in the opposite direction.  I walk in my purpose, and as my man Abyss says “There is a difference between being CALLED and CHOSEN!!”